


Ordinary Nightmares

by DarkBlue



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Begging, Carlos is bisexual, Carlos loves Cecil, Cecil is just surprised, Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, NOT intended in the slightest, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Semi-Public Sex, Some people may tag as bi-phobic, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkBlue/pseuds/DarkBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos has a sex dream that hurts Cecil's feelings. The two fight, and Carlos figures out how to make it up to him. This is not my first fic, but it is my a) first fic on Archive, and b) my first smut. Definitely will take reviews ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordinary Nightmares

It was slow, at first. A distant gliding feeling that made him smile and hum with pleasure. There was a hand in the sheets stroking his thighs, brushing the front of his boxers ever so purposefully, palming it only once, very briefly, as he came more awake and erect.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured regretfully when the hand retreated. There was heavy breathing to his left and he squinted, his vision blurry. It was difficult to see, as if flashes of another place were distorting and imposing themselves onto the scene at hand. His bedroom. He blinked and his vision cleared. Of course his bedroom, what had he been thinking?

“Don’t stop,” he said again, his own hand snaking between his partner’s legs, prying the hand from where it was working rhythmically. He bit his own lip, staring at those overblown pupils wide with lust.

“You’re awake,” the dusky voice said in glee, and Carlos had to smile in answer. He didn’t speak, didn’t need to, only guided his hand under the shorts and twirled a finger experimentally around between the thighs, never quite touching where it was most needed. He probed and fingered until he could hear the rattling, gasping breaths that meant he was doing it right. As he was about to draw down the shorts agonizingly, ready to begin his careful, patient ministrations again, he was interrupted by a growl, an ass grinding into the sheets, and his hand was swatted miserably away and the shorts removed without his help.

“No,” Carlos said firmly, covering the most sensitive area of his partner with his hand firmly and frowning. “I want to do it.”

“Please,” came the gasp. “Please don’t tease me anymore. I can’t bear it.”

Carlos grinned wickedly. “Then what do you want?”

“To be full.”

“Are you going to come just from this?” Carlos returned to tracing the ever tightening circles, but this time around the rectum.

A head was thrown back, hair thrashed, teeth gnashed. “Please! I want to!”

Carlos leaned forward with a deep smile and whispered, “You have to beg for it.”

“I want it!” and the voice was nearly broken, nearly desperate enough. But Carlos knew it so well, he could tell when it was being faked. He only smiled and leaned down, licking his tongue from ass to belly button in a slow, hot sweep.

The scream of frustration was _not_ faked.

He did it again, only backwards, wending his way down the last part of the abdomen, and stopping to swirl at the base of both thighs, avoiding the place that was just desperately crying out for it. There was fluid dripping everywhere, off both his hands, his nose, and his tongue. He crawled up the body for a kiss that was taken hungrily, achingly, moaning in sweet agony of close, but not close enough.

“PLEASE,” and this time the voice was hoarse, not at all its usual mellifluous tone, and Carlos knew it was sincere. 

The ass his hands were holding twitched fiercely on the bed, begging for it. Carlos stroked the underside of one long thigh slowly, caressing his way from cheek to knee before hooking it firmly over his shoulder. The cry was exultant; soon now.

Carlos, who hadn’t been paying attention to himself, felt the cry pierce his balls like a hot wave of desirous need, and his cock, already rock hard and tenting his boxers, jutted straight upwards as he closed his eyes, reveling in his control. He loved control. It was one of the best things about being a scientist. The other thing was knowing anatomy. Intimately.

He picked up the other leg, which was shaking so badly it almost kicked him in the face in its eagerness to hook itself over his shoulder. Carlos frowned and drew a lazy finger down it, fingered the ass, and then circling the hole as it puckered.

“Please,” begged that broken voice, a special version of a voice that only he knew. No one else got to hear this voice. The fluid was running freely down both thighs, trickling onto the bed.

With one hand, Carlos pulled down his boxers to his knees where he was kneeling on the bed, positioned himself and thrust forward. He was close too and if he could only feel the warmth envelop him, he was sure he would be finished. But as soon as he felt the tip of his penis penetrate the opening, the world flashed again. And again. And Carlos, blinking blearily, woke up in his _real_ bed, glaring down in frustration at his penis tenting his real sheets, in his real apartment in Night Vale.

He turned over to nuzzle awake his very _real_ boyfriend to see if he felt like completing one of the best sex dreams Carlos had ever had (minus the happy ending), and jolted back in alarm. Cecil’s eye was open, and it was watching him.

Carlos was very fond of Cecil, and that interest had only grown in moving in together after Cecil had saved his life in the embarrassing “Condos” incident where he had been too cocky of his scientific superpowers. But Carlos hadn’t been aware that Cecil’s numerous tattoos were…er…more than just violet inkings under his gorgeous alabaster skin. Cecil had several tattoos, but Carlos only knew what the obvious ones did. Cecil had a collection of small black inked tattoos that didn’t seem to move. But he also had four violet tentacle tattoos: two that wrapped around his arms, and two that overlapped his waist. Cecil himself didn’t understand how they worked for the most part. He insisted he had woken up one day and they had arrived, as everything did in Night Vale, silently, sinisterly, and paired with a fruit basket only consisting of pears.

His tentacles had only manifested once in Carlos’ presence, and Carlos had squeaked in such surprise and shock, Cecil had snapped them back into immobility, mortified and only able to grate out that he was sorry and that he liked Carlos’ rumpled lab coat.

Now, what had startled Carlos was that where usually Cecil had a crescent shaped purple line inked into his forehead, there was a third, very real, very vivid purple eyeball that was staring at him while Cecil’s usual eyes were shut. Carlos tried to calm himself down, but his flushed skin, raging erection, and persistent bed head were making him extremely embarrassed to be so intensely studied as Cecil’s eye was doing.

To gain some time and maybe shake himself out of a half dream state (which he seriously doubted at this point), Carlos reached for his glasses. Maybe he only thought Cecil’s forehead tattoo had manifested into a third eye. Though Carlos’ eyesight was poor, it wasn’t that poor, and bringing the eyeball into stark relief as he pulled his glasses off his nightstand (the right one), was sufficient to make Carlos feel like shaking Cecil awake to ask him about it.

Carlos leaned forward and paused with concern. Cecil was frowning in his sleep, the lines creasing his ageless face usually only reserved for intense emotions like fawning over Khoshekh, or his biweekly murderous tirade about Steve Carlsberg. Carlos stretched before reaching over to his lover and made a face at the whiff he caught from his own armpit. He needed a shower.

“Cecil,” Carlos whispered, shaking Cecil’s arm tentatively. Cecil’s third eye didn’t seem to have a lid, and therefore didn’t seem to need to blink. It followed him, its pupil blowing wide when Carlos got close in fascination to examine it.

“Cecil,” Carlos said, a bit more urgently. Now that he was thinking about a shower, he was hoping Cecil would join him, and his erection, which had admittedly flagged under the scrutiny, perked back up with renewed vigor.

Cecil grumbled something in a language Carlos didn’t understand. Cecil could speak any language he chose. His brain was somehow programmed to hear and understand everything, and was able to respond in the native tongue. He was one of the only people who could speak to Erika, except those they called, and of course, Old Woman Josie.

Carlos was extremely envious of this trait, but didn’t feel like testing it at the moment. He shook Cecil harder. Cecil grumbled again, threw a hand over his head, and began what Carlos had dubbed his ‘sleepy stretches.’ Cecil often woke up after six or seven rounds of curving his entire body like a banana and then shrimping into fetal position, still fast asleep. This time, however, it only took four banana shrimps before Cecil blinked sleepily awake.

Carlos watched in fascination as Cecil’s third eye seemed to blink in tandem with his other two, but in the opposite fashion, winking in and out of manifestation until Cecil rubbed his eyes and sat up, and the third eye vanished back into a delicate crescent drawing on his forehead.

“Glasses?” mumbled Cecil, and Carlos grinned, reaching over him to hand him his own glasses from his nightstand. He purposefully ground his lap into Cecil’s, letting him know the order of business this morning. To his surprise, Cecil turned away, still frowning.

“You were dreaming,” Carlos reassured him at once. It was normal in Night Vale to have recurring, familiar nightmares. They were much like friends from kindergarten. Only these were the friends that beat Carlos up on the playground and spit on him. So not friends. Not really. Carlos had not known he had ever previously had recurring nightmares until he had moved to Night Vale. How wrong he was. Carlos had never even dreamed at all before moving, but as it was illegal not to dream, the Sheriff’s Secret Police had made a pointed visit to his lab to let him know they would appreciate his dreaming more loudly, so they could record his subconscious desires in their files.

“No,” Cecil said, his voice a little ragged from sleep but quickly taking on his usual sonorous tones. “ _You_ were dreaming.”

Carlos only gaped at him, but then grinned mischievously, flipping back the blankets. “Oh, so you noticed that, did you?” he asked, smirking.

Cecil only looked at the bed, his face crushed. His voice, usually so unflappable, did not betray him like his face did. Carlos loved that about Cecil; he wore his emotions so openly, for those who were really looking. It was both wonderful and terrible to realize no one else ever was.

“Cecil?” asked Carlos uncertainly. He wondered if Cecil was feeling self-conscious. “Is this about your…” he gestured at his own forehead.

“Cataleptic telepathy?” asked Cecil dully.

“Uh…what?” spluttered Carlos, momentarily sidetracked.

Cecil did not stop to explain about the telepathy. “You were dreaming,” he insisted again. “I saw you.”

“Y…you what?” asked Carlos, aghast.

Cecil flushed faintly. “I can see dreams…when I’m asleep. I like to keep my eye open. I used to catch random dreams floating around Night Vale…it’s how I know everyone so well. But now that you’re here, whether it’s because I love you or random proximity, I only watch your dreams at night…I wanted…wanted to feel closer to you.” Cecil stopped, mumbling something incoherent as he shrugged his shoulders, clutching at his own arms.

Carlos immediately blushed a deep red. He felt as if all the blood was leaving his penis for his face, a process that was usually reversed when Cecil was present.

“Y-you saw that?” he stuttered, suddenly deeply ashamed.

Cecil’s face was hurt, and he didn’t have to answer.

“Cecil…I-I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“I can’t believe it,” Cecil said in a small voice. “I thought…I thought…”

“I know,” Carlos said again, his voice now desperate. “And I should have told you. Please believe it doesn’t change what you-“

“What _I_?” challenged Cecil, suddenly flaring to life, his eyes flashing, and his arms uncrossing as he sat up straighter in the bed. “Carlos! You were having sex with…with…”

“With someone I…” Carlos tried to put in.

“WITH A GIRL!” shrieked Cecil.

Carlos winced. When Cecil switched to his head voice, it meant he was serious, despite sounding like a preteen American Doll commercial. “Cecil, we were…she was my…my girlfriend, before I moved here.”

“You like _girls_?” Cecil echoed in disbelief, his voice still raggedy and high strung.

“Yes.”

“But…but we’re…do you… _why_?”

“Cecil,” Carlos reached out a hand but Cecil pulled back selfishly. “You’re the first man I’ve ever…” Carlos took a deep breath. “E-e-ever,” he stammered.

Cecil slid out of bed, his eyes full of tears.

“I knew at once!” Carlos said more loudly, also sliding out of bed and following his lover into the bathroom. Before he could go in, Cecil slammed the door shut in his face. Carlos tried the lock, but to no avail. “I knew at once,” he said to the brass knob. “The first time I heard your voice over the radio. I thought to myself…who is that? And…and I knew again, for sure this time, when I saw you.”

“You hardly talked to me,” came Cecil’s muffled voice over the sound of the faucet running.

“I-I had never done this before!” Carlos stammered again. “I thought…I needed time to work…to work out how I felt…and what it meant…”

“What it _meant_?” snarled Cecil, yanking the door open. There was still floss hanging from between his teeth.

“Cecil, please,” begged Carlos. “I needed time to figure out who I was attracted to.”

Cecil paused in horror, his shirt half buttoned. “What about cats?”

“Cats?”

“Are you attracted to them?”

“What? No! I-“

“Rats?”

“No! Cecil-“

“What about other women?”

“What?”

“Dana?”

“No!”

“You two were in the desert an awful long time. I never knew I needed to be worried until _now_!”

“Cecil, please, I only love…”

“What about five-headed dragons?”

“Wh…”

“Hiram McDaniels? Maybe you’ll know once you see _him_! He's very charismatic you know.”

“I’ve already seen him, and Cecil you’re missing the point!”

“Girls, huh? What about the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home?”

“Cecil,” said Carlos wearily.

“And angels? If they were even _real_ , would you be attracted to them?”

Carlos thought about the multiple sets of eyes, razor sharp wings, and tall lithe bodies with no apparent sexual organs attached to any of them and shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said with a half deprecating smile. “Erika is not really my type.”

“Your type!” Cecil yelled hoarsely, his voice still skipping syllables in its yelping. “You said it yourself, you don’t even know your type until you see or hear them!”

“Cecil, please, I love _you_.”

“Don’t,” Cecil said brusquely, his voice suddenly dropping down to its usual deep octave. Carlos knew the fight was over. “Just don’t.”

“Cecil?” Carlos asked in a whisper, offering silently to tie Cecil’s bowtie, something Carlos did every morning.

Cecil looked down at his fingers and handed him the ribbon, but instead of holding still, only unbuttoned the top buttons to his shirt and strode away to get his car keys. “I have to go,” he said abruptly. “Intern Abdullah’s funeral is being held in the break room at eleven.”

Carlos glanced reflexively at his watch, which aside from Cecil’s, was the only real time in Night Vale. “It’s only eight thirty.” As he said that, he realized if only he and Cecil had any concept of real time, Abdullah’s funeral might have been yesterday for all they knew.

“I’m catering,” glared Cecil. “So I’ll need to get there early to make sure to use the oven before they wheel the casket in so that the silk lining doesn’t smell like popovers. Plus, someone has to feed Khoshekh his usual supply of mutated gerbils.”

“Cecil,” Carlos tried one last time, but Cecil grabbed his keys, his messenger bag, and the freeze-dried rodents from the charred refrigerator (which still worked despite being set on fire by the Faceless Old Woman), and was gone, leaving Carlos feeling wilted and confused in front of the door.

* * *

_Broadcast Transcript 8:43pm_

Round things. The most important shape in the universe. The round earth, the pale blue dot, spinning dizzily in space fast enough to glue our feet into place. Our round eyes as we watch each other’s mouths say round vowels, the vowels in ‘I love you,’ or ‘Goodbye.’ The roundness of the world is mitigated by the things only pretending to be round: coffee mugs, wall clocks, those things posing as round that are really there to hurt us all.

Remember, your round eyes can see the beauty before you, and if you can’t, you are most likely physically blinded. If you are not physically blinded but still metaphorically blind, please rap your knuckles sixteen times in succession to the nursery rhyme “The Farmer in the Dell,” and a hooded figure will shortly appear to stick a red hot poker in your eyes to help you with your discernment.

Listeners, I’d like to talk about your Horoscopes. For Aries, you will experience scalding burns. The insults you’ll walk into may be very harsh. Apply aloe vera in preparation today before interacting with anyone.

Taurus? Well if you’re a Taurus, it looks like your boyfriend is going to spring a surprise on you, a very awful one, which will leave you feeling dazed and confused all day, questioning your very existence. But I’m sure that’s nothing to worry about.

Gemini, is your face red? Is it burning? Is it peeling back from your orbital cavities and mandible in long, red, strips? Clutch your face as it burns, because nothing goes so well with it as A1 Barbeque Sauce, which can be found at _Ralph’s_.

If you’re a Cancer, be reminded that wombats exist.

Leo? Make sure that all the orange pieces of clothing you own are separated in the closet. Nothing rhymes with orange, and this makes the orange things in the world sad; they cannot be paired in semantics, not ever, and so attempt to congeal.

For Virgo, you will meet a child today. The child will be covered in blood. The child will be covered in blood and look strangely like you. That’s because it is you. The child will be your childhood, bathed in the blood of your subsequent unpleasant experiences, staring you in the face until you realize your childhood has broken out of you. It broke out of you a long time ago. Recapture your childhood Virgo, kidnap it and bind it tightly to your ribcage with ropes.

Libra, watch out for rain. Watch out as it falls on your face. Tilt your head back as it rains on the desert and drown in your own sobbing tears of relief for the rain. Leave your body to rot as a sacrifice for the next rain, which may not come until your children are old.

Scorpio, it is good to grip tightly to your courage. We are not sure where it has gone, but all of us know you’ve lost it. When you are worried while standing in the Starbucks line that people are judging you…don’t worry, we are.

Sagittarius, the gas in your body is particularly bad this week. Let it out. Let it out through flatulence, or tracheotomies, or even through your chest cavity as you are autopsied.

Capricorn? The hooded figures apologize for leaving your soul in for so long, there has been a backlog. Please do not panic, it will be removed shortly.

Aquarius. Oh Aquarius. You make us sad. You make us all sad. Your sadness exudes from your pores as a paralytic. _Congratulations on becoming a parent!_

And finally, Pisces. Pisces, the conditional acceptance on that last iTunes contract you agreed to without reading the terms has actually bound your existence to that of the mayfly. I apologize for your upcoming demise, but really? Isn’t this really your fault for not reading the terms and conditions? I know no one does, but now…don’t you see? You’re damned Pisces. And it’s your own fault.

Oh! Listeners. We have a caller to the radio. My phone has also been buzzing during the horoscopes but it’s a bit _rude_ to answer on the radio, wouldn’t you say? But the blinking light cannot be denied. Management made very sure of that…the blinking…unyielding…light.

Hello? You’re on the air.

_Cecil?_

Carlos, I’m in the middle of a broadcast.

_Cecil, I have to talk to you. You weren’t answering your phone._

I have nothing to say.

_I want to talk about this morning._

Carlos, weren’t you reluctant to talk about our sex life on the radio? Our very _sexual_ exploits?

 _C-Cecil. I still don’t like it, and I wish you wouldn’t, b-but, this time_ I’m _going to talk about it._

Oh!

 _I’m_ sorry _Cecil. I should have told you. I didn’t want you to find out that way. I didn’t want you to find out at all. I’m a different person now Cecil. You’ve made me different. Night Vale made me different._

It does that.

_But you also made me better. I- I love you Cecil._

Oh, Carlos…I love you too.

 _Also, Cecil, even though I’m upset you found out that way, I didn’t know you even_ could _find out that way. You shouldn’t peek in dreams._

Carlos!

_What?_

I sincerely apologize to the Secret Police for encroaching on their dreaming territory. I swear, I only…uh…listen sometimes to the dreams, and to Carlos’…I…

_Cecil, I’m so sorry! Uh…also to the Secret Police, I…I lied._

No he didn’t! Carlos, you should know by now lying is a criminal offense.

_WHAT?_

He didn’t lie. I did dream drop. But-

**Oh, don’t worry. I do it all the time.**

Who’s that?

**Cecil, you should know.**

Erm…

**It's The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home?**

Oh. Uh…hi. How did you get in my recording studio?

**The same way I get in everywhere: by willing it. But don't worry Cecil, I dream drop too. I dream drop on the Secret Police. You should see what the Secret Police dream about. I’m talking to you, officer. You know who you are. I’m in your home right now. I’m touching your socks. I’m breathing on the hair on the back of your neck. Maybe you should get in your black helicopter now. Don’t worry, I’ve already swept it for yams.**

_Cecil, I'm driving…I've got to go. I’ll see you soon._

Carlos…wait!

**You two. Just calm down. The dream wasn’t _that_ bad, Cecil. **

I…I…uh, Listeners, let us go now… to [the weather](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_7iXgwjk2g).

* * *

Carlos had to pause in the hallway of Night Vale Community radio to pant. He had been on his way to the radio station, slamming his hand into the steering wheel over and over while Cecil's cell rang until he finally called the radio hotline and spoken with Cecil so briefly.

There was no parking in the lot, because it seemed that Erika had taken up every single one. There were rows upon rows of glistening silver Teslas. Erika was extremely wealthy. Carlos didn’t care why Erika was there, but had cursed him/her as he parked down the street and sprinted to the front door. He had to get to Cecil before the weather was over.

“Hi Carlos,” said the newest intern Yvonne, passing him in the hallway. “Can I get you some coffee?”

“That’d be great,” Carlos said, trying to quell his heart rate. He began walking stealthily down the hall, hoping Cecil was still on break.

Yvonne nodded and smiled, and fiddled with her lanyard holding her NCVR badge as she walked down the hall. There was a sudden snap, and Carlos looked over his shoulder and sighed.

Yvonne, poor Yvonne, had caught her lanyard on a passing doorknob and slipped on one of the many unmentioned puddles on the vinyl flooring, effectively snapping her neck. Carlos sighed. Did he have to pick up her body right _now_? He had places to be. But as soon as he had thought this, he sighed gustily at himself and went over to pick her up and take her to the break room.

“Oh no,” said Intern Maureen unconcernedly, glancing up from her Ramen cup she was eating alone, as Carlos entered, awkwardly managing the weight of Yvonne. “That one only lasted four days.”

“Where do you want me to put her?” Carlos said through gritted teeth, glancing helplessly over his shoulder at the light in the station hallway flicker brightly back to ON AIR.

“Oh, anywhere,” shrugged Maureen. “On the table is fine.”

Carlos lay Intern Yvonne down, and Maureen handed him a slip.

“You’ll have to fill this out,” she told him. “Since you found her. We try to keep our blinders on so we don’t have to fill these out.”

The ‘cause of death’ form was forty eight pages long. Carlos looked up in murderous fury in time to see Maureen shrug into sunglasses fashioned like a carriage horse, with large black blinders screening the sides of her face. With a sarcastic smirk, she threw her ramen in the trash and left.

Carlos breezed through the form in record time. He had opted to leave a great deal of it blank, because it asked him suspicious questions about his own blood type, and his mental health outlook on a typical Thursday. He was slightly worried he would be getting a visit from an official at City Hall, but he still folded it up with a sigh after ten minutes and looked around where to put it.

To his only slight astonishment, Yvonne’s mouth fell open and a low muted green light pulsed from it. Carlos folded his form smaller (which was difficult because of its bulk), and then slotted it into Yvonne’s mouth, closing her jaw in after it. The corpse gulped, and Carlos watched in fascination as the bulge of paper worked its way down the broken, twisted throat, and then upon reaching the base of the throat, trilled a series of high piccolo notes, and disappeared.

He twisted around and sprinted for the break room door. He made his way down the hall, checking his watch. Cecil’s broadcasts ran anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour, and he wasn’t sure how close Cecil was to the end. He crept into the dark studio.

Cecil’s recording booth was lit brightly from the inside, and Carlos could see his beautiful boyfriend haloed beneath the lights, reading with intense concentration from his script, every so often slowing his inaudible voice to relish the words. He couldn’t see Carlos against the bright glare of the lights, and Carlos was struck with sudden inspiration. He carefully turned the handle to the booth and dropped to a crouch so that Cecil couldn’t see him over his desk.

Cecil’s voice faltered. “Oh, I suppose…we have doors here at Night Vale Community radio that randomly gust, so if you here static on your end I…OHHH!”

Cecil choked and Carlos grinned. He had crawled beneath Cecil’s desk and run a hand up his thigh mischievously.

Cecil started his chair back, glancing down. Carlos had pressed his face between Cecil’s narrow knees and was grinning malevolently up at him. He put a finger to his lips.

“I…I’m sorry listeners. The gust was…c-c-cold!” Cecil stuttered. Carlos had moved his finger from his lips to trace, just as he had in his dream, lazy circles around the underside of Cecil’s thighs. Cecil was squirming, his voice barely holding it sonorous quality.

Carlos loved that he had that effect. Cecil, voice of Night Vale, with its resonance, often floated out of bass octave when Carlos was pestering him. It became rough and ragged. The first time they had slept together, Cecil had been calm and collected, patiently showing Carlos what had to be done. Since then, Carlos had resumed his normal role as the dom in his relationships. This had unexpectedly delighted Cecil, who had proved to be a shy, giggling teenager when it came to spontaneous sex.

Now Carlos was growling softly, and Cecil was scooting his ass away from Carlos hurriedly, his eyes already blown wide and dark with the unexpectedness of Carlos’ fervor.

Carlos shook his head naughtily, and gripped both of Cecil’s hips and dragged him forward, bumping his hips against his desk and causing the microphone to shriek.

“S-sorry listeners,” stammered Cecil, his voice floating out of his normal bass range. “Just…just having some…static interference.”

Carlos had removed his own belt, buckling Cecil’s left arm to his chair. Cecil was struggling to keep his right hand free to turn his notes. Carlos glared at him before palming the front of Cecil’s grey jeans. Cecil went rigid. His eyes turned down to Carlos underneath his desk pleadingly, but Carlos only smiled angelically, tapping the chair arm, raising an eyebrow. Cecil tried to shake his head, but Carlos only took the moment to drag his teeth down the denim encasing Cecil’s thigh. Cecil hadn’t spoke in half a minute and as he opened his mouth, Carlos tapped the chair arm again, and Cecil obediently put his right arm down, allowing Carlos to bind him with the belt so that he couldn’t push away.

“Sp-sponsorship is an important part of Night Vale radio,” Cecil stuttered. “So…so now…a prerecorded message,” he finished in a rush.

To Carlos’ surprise, Cecil’s left arm tattoo manifested into a violet tentacle only long enough to press a button on his sounding board resting on his desk before the booth went silent except for Cecil’s ragged breathing.

“C-Carlos, what are you doing?”

“Well I should think that was obvious,” Carlos grinned.

"What are you doing _here_?” Cecil demanded.

Carlo’s smile faltered. “What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly. “I thought…”

“I don’t know,” Cecil faltered.

“Do you not want to?” Carlos was conscientious of consent, especially in Night Vale, where there was so little.

Cecil glanced down at his jeans, which were very tight because of his arousal. “I…I do,” he said, blushing harder than Carlos had ever seen. “I’m just…oh Carlos, we’ve never done this.”

“Oh,” said Carlos blankly, his hands still warming Cecil’s thighs. Then he glanced up under his eyebrows. “ _Oh_. You mean you’ve wanted to…experiment.”

Cecil flushed hot magenta. “I am very into science these days,” he whispered.

Carlos crawled his way up from beneath Cecil’s desk long enough to steal a kiss.

“Carlos,” hissed Cecil, staring out his booth window wide, unseeing eyes, trying to tell if anyone had seen him.

“I’ll stay under here,” Carlos promised, his smile dirtier than Cecil’s thoughts. “I think your message is almost done.”

Cecil panicked, glancing at the board, and managed to lean forward and flick a button back on with his tongue. “Welcome back LISTENERS!” Cecil yelped.

Carlos had moved his nose to Cecil’s crotch, and his hands to Cecil’s belt, carefully undoing it as quietly as possible. Carlos listened in amusement as Cecil’s voice jumped up and down, gasping, as Carlos carefully un-tucked Cecil’s penis, which was already mostly hard, and tugged insistently on the waist of Cecil’s jeans until he lifted his ass and Carlos tugged them to his knees.

Cecil ground into his chair impatiently, but Carlos did not satisfy Cecil’s wiggling. He laughed a low laugh into Cecil’s knee and muttered. “We’re going to experiment with your self control.”

Cecil literally whimpered into the microphone.

Carlos began to draw his fingers, lightly pressing his nails into the inside of Cecil’s thighs, pushing his legs apart. Simultaneously, he traced his tongue on the exposed skin beneath Cecil’s shirt. He was wending his way down Cecil’s feather light happy trail and was gratified by watched Cecil’s bound hands clench involuntarily to the chair handles as he twitched.

Cecil kept speaking, but Carlos could tell the effect he had on him. His voice wasn’t as deep, nor as slow. He was hurrying through his broadcast, desperate to save his professionalism and win the experiment.

Carlos frowned. They couldn’t have _that_.

He flicked his tongue, just once, on the underside of the shaft he had been working around. Cecil’s voice stopped mid-sentence. Pre-cum began leaking down the side of Carlos’ face as he worked his tongue down to the base, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin surrounding it, barely brushing his teeth against Cecil’s curls.

Cecil bucked so wildly he cracked Carlos’ head against the bottom of the table. “I-I-“ stuttered Cecil, and Carlos knew he wasn’t sure whether to apologize to him or to the listeners.

Carlos took advantage of the lapse. He breathed hotly on Cecil’s swollen cock and then licked him ass to tip in one, slow, molten sweep. Cecil let out such a gratifying groan, multiplied and amplified by the microphone, edging out over the air waves, Carlos was immediately hard, and he had to pause, panting, resting his hand on Cecil’s thigh.

He could feel Cecil’s fingers working their way into his hair, stroking his head and comforting him. Carlos waited the perfect amount, knowing what Cecil would do next. He was so predictable.

Cecil stopped stroking Carlos’ head just as he regained sufficient composure to report about the Glow Cloud now raining exotic and endangered dead animals onto local food chains from the protest its offspring did not make the school soccer team on account of not having feet and being an insubstantial wisp. Cecil pushed Carlos’ head down harder, as much as his fingers would allow toward his cock, obviously trying to covey what he wanted Carlos to do. Carlos gave the tip of it a long, slow kiss. Cecil hissed in the middle of his report and thrust forward, only a fraction of an inch, but it was too late. Carlos had drawn away, out of Cecil’s reach.

He started over again, licking his way up Cecil’s thighs, his hands encircling Cecil’s waist, rubbing and pressing on firm sinewy muscles until Cecil’s only motion was a desperate, futile thrusting up under the table, wild with anger and intolerance. His voice was taking on a hard, irritated edge.

“And now stay tuned for two hours of silence punctuated by the sounds of your deepest regrets bobbing buoyantly to the surface of your mind to plague you about how you should have acted in that one encounter eight years ago.”

Cecil drew a huge breath when Carlos’ tongue touched the sensitive nerve endings at the base of his balls. Carlos snorted softly as he drew his tongue backwards, dragging slightly up the right side of Cecil’s penis. It was now wet and slick from precum, saliva, and Cecil sweating profusely.

“Goodnight,” he rasped, his head dropping back against his chair. “…Night…VALE…goodnight!”

Cecil ended the broadcast and nosed the off button for the microphone, bending at the waist and momentarily closing his lap off to Carlos’ inquisitive tongue, but lowering his throat which Carlos lunged for like a librarian toward children. He planted an open mouthed hot kiss in the small hollow of Cecil’s neck, and grinned against Cecil’s skin. He could feel Cecil’s heartbeat, and it was pounding hard and erratic against his chest.

There was another warm rush through Carlos and he ground one of his own palms across the front of his jeans. It was intoxicating to know he had this kind of control over Cecil when Cecil usually steered their relationship through the treacherous waters of life in Night Vale.

“C-Carlooos,” wailed Cecil, dropping his head back against his chair. “Carlos, what have you done? My broadcast…is…”

Carlos was circling the base of the shaft in long, lazy, loops with his hot tongue. He popped off. “Oh, do you want me to stop?” he asked evilly.

Cecil blinked at the ceiling, tears escaping down his cheeks as he tried to draw breath.

Carlos stopped, astonished. “Cecil?”

“Please, _please_ ,” begged Cecil. “At least let me kiss you.”

Carlos was so touched he actually stood up from beneath the desk, wincing. His knees were sore anyway.

He cradled Cecil’s flushed face, taking off Cecil’s glasses. Cecil turned his head up hopefully, but Carlos only put his mouth near Cecil’s ear, nibbling on the edge of it delightfully until there were goosebumps on Cecil’s neck. “Come under the desk,” he commanded, and Cecil shuddered from shoulders to toes.

“Yes,” he breathed, and Carlos unfastened his wrists, chastised to see they were red and raw from where Cecil had been straining against them.

“No,” Cecil said at once, and then blushed shyly. “Leave them on.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow but drew his lover under the desk, binding Cecil’s hands above his head without comment. The desk was not very long, and Cecil could just stretch out head to toe. Carlos turned and shifted him so that they were closer to the wall of the recording booth; if anyone looked in they wouldn’t see them.

Carlos looked fondly down at Cecil, flushed and beautiful, half naked, his erection persistent and dipping over his stomach as he squirmed beneath Carlos’ hot, appraising gaze.

“This will be better than the dream,” he promised Cecil in a low voice. Cecil arched against the floor, impatient.

“Let me see more of that skin,” Carlos smirked, taking both sides of Cecil’s shirt and working the buttons apart quickly, his hands trailing over the flushed bits of ribcage he uncovered. He took both sides and spread them apart like a curtain, revealing Cecil’s hot skin to the cool air only an inch at a time.

Cecil was so overheated and aroused, every action affected him even more. He moaned in pleasure and pain. This was the longest he had ever gone without orgasm. It had been more than twenty minutes of the best no-blow job he had ever gotten. Carlos had refused to take him into his mouth, and Cecil wasn’t on the slow burn of foreplay, but close, held over the edge until he was crazy with the lust for it, desperate and in pain, and loving it simultaneously. He twisted against the rough carpet merely for friction somewhere and Carlos dipped his head to Cecil’s stomach, licking and biting from the top of his pubic hair in an opposite path of where Cecil wanted him, over his stomach, flicking his nipples until Cecil was crying again, but this time with frustration.

Carlos was fascinated by Cecil’s tears. None of the girls he had ever slept with had cried. But at the same time, it was a lot easier to judge how close Cecil was by his cock than it was with a girl. Carlos kissed the tears away, licking long sweeps over Cecil’s cheekbones, open mouthed kisses over his eyebrows, and running his hot, mischevious tongue under Cecil’s jawline. He was avoiding Cecil’s seeking mouth in the same way he had avoided either his dick or his asshole, and it was driving Cecil insane.

“Please,” he begged. “Give me _something_ , Carlos.”

And the way he said Carlos’ name forced Carlos to pause, panting, against Cecil’s collarbone. He decided the pressure was too much, and he took one of his hands to unzip his black pants, desperate for release. His boxers bobbed out of his waist band immediately and Carlos sighed in relief, his own cock jutting forward against Cecil’s stomach.

Cecil grinned in delight, grinding his sweaty skin against the fabric and closing his eyes in ecstasy at feeling Carlos’ cock against him.

“Cecil,” warned Carlos, who had barely spoken. But his own voice was laden with tremors. On the one hand, he wanted to see how far he could milk Cecil, but the baser part of him wanted him to keep rubbing until he came in his shorts; a very real possibility by this point.

Cecil hitched several combination moan sobs as he thrust uselessly, his hands tightening against one another above his head. Carlos nipped between his sensitive ribs, trailing his hands down to Cecil’s hips and adjusting him to be wrapped around Carlos’ own hips. Cecil thrust again, this time moaning exultantly, but Carlos had positioned him so that though it felt like he had traction, in reality, Carlos could clench his legs and prevent Cecil from self-stimulating. Cecil screamed in frustration.

“Cecil,” admonished Carlos again. “You’re at _work_!”

Cecil looked torn between not caring and deep mortification.

“I’m going to have to gag you to continue this experiment,” Carlos sighed dramatically, but Cecil lit up excitedly. To Carlos’ surprise, one of the tentacle tattoos around Cecil’s waist sprung into manifestation and slipped into Cecil’s mouth. He sucked on it hungrily, desperate for interaction. Carlos had no experience with tentacles, but he smacked it and Cecil gasped in delight. Carlos filed that away for later but said: “Put that away.”

Cecil whined. He seemed beyond coherent words. He mouthed at the air, twitching spasmodically, tightening his butt cheeks and curling his toes. Carlos finally obliged him and, putting a hand on either side of Cecil’s face, lowered his questing tongue at last into Cecil’s mouth. Cecil latched onto it like he was teething. He kissed Carlos senseless, and despite not having hands, managed to freeze Carlos flush against him as he began to mouth fuck him, at first rhythmically, then desperately as his hips bucked. Carlos lost himself a moment, so hard already that he felt like he could come from this alone. As soon as the thought occurred, the spark already igniting deep in his balls, he pulled forcefully away, catching Cecil’s dick in one hand, and forcing him to be still, his face radiantly hopeful.

Carlos began to slowly work his fingers up and down, not sliding, but strumming against Cecil’s cock like his guitar at home. Cecil moaned and then bit his lip, hiding his face in his arm over his head, obviously close, his ass tight against the carpet.

“No,” said Carlos, turning Cecil’s head back to him with the other hand. “You have to beg.”

Cecil nodded vigorously, tried to speak, but could only gasp in pleasure as Carlos finally dragged Cecil’s right leg over his shoulder from where he was kneeling over him. His other hand fluttered over Cecil’s bottom. “Is this all right?” he whispered.

Cecil cried out incoherently, bucking his hip into Carlos’ chest desperately. “Beg, Cecil,” Carlos reminded him. It was as if a switch had been flipped in Cecil’s brain.

His feet began to jiggle uncontrollably in place, like a kid needing to pee as the string of words flowed out of him without stopping for breath. “Carlos please. Please, please, _please_. Give it to me. Give me _something_. Give me your tongue, your finger, your mouth, your dick. Give me something to suck on, touch me, please God, touch me, let me finish. Let me come. Please I’ve never needed to come as badly as I do…please, _please_ fuck me. Oh _fuck_ me. Please, please, please…” Cecil trailed off into a litany of pleading, barely coherent, his head flashing from side to side in agony.

“I’m not going to put my fingers in you,” said Carlos.

Cecil screamed into his own arm, biting the sensitive flesh there.

“And I’m not going to fuck you.”

Cecil dissolved into tears.

Carlos smiled and turned his face manually towards his own as he spoke. “I’m going to suck you dry. And when I do, you’re going to come so hard, you’ll forget you have a spine.”

Cecil screamed into his arm again, the tears streaming down his face in ecstasy. “THANK YOU,” he moaned. “Oh Carlos, _beautiful_ Carlos, _magnificent_ Carlos…I…I,” but Cecil couldn’t finish.

Carlos had hooked Cecil’s other knee over his shoulder and rested Cecil’s ass against his own dick. He took it out so that the friction of Cecil’s writhing, sweating body could slide against it. Carlos bent down, took the tip of Cecil’s penis in his mouth, and swallowed him in one, long, agonizingly slow go.

Cecil bucked, and Carlos almost thought he was going to come at once. His mouth already tasted bitter and sour from the pre ejaculate. Cecil writhed wildly, trying to fuck his mouth, but Carlos had purposefully rendered bucking impossible from the angle Cecil was trapped in.

“NO!” he screamed in frustration. “Oh GOD.”

Carlos didn’t suction, didn’t pop up right away, didn’t draw it out. He stayed at the base and sucked. He slurped. He fluttered his tongue against the softness of Cecil’s penis in his mouth.

Cecil was crying again, unashamedly sobbing as he stared at the underside of his desk. He had to stop to draw a ragged breath as Carlos slowly drew off of him.

“Beg, Cecil,” Carlos reminded him, and Cecil began begging so desperately, so needily, so soul-crushingly, that Carlos almost felt bad until Cecil said the one thing that forced Carlos to buck against his partner: his name. “Carlos,” gasped Cecil, as Carlos twitched involuntarily, his own penis sliding against Cecil’s back. “Oh Carlos.”

It became a litany, something Carlos couldn’t control, Cecil wildly rubbing any part of him that was touching Carlos, crying his name louder, and louder still. Carlos lost the last shred of control he had. He suspected Cecil could be pushed just a bit further, into stunned incomprehension past the point of tears, but he couldn’t take it that far today. He plunged his mouth back down and began to suck Cecil so hard he had to stop saying Carlos’ name out of sheer beautiful agony as he gasped for air, his eyes rolling sickeningly in his head, his bare body glistening with sweat pouring off of him.

“C-Ca,” Cecil tried to speak.

“Are you coming?” Carlos growled, pausing briefly, and realized his fingers had found Cecil’s hole of his own accord and were probing the sensitive flesh there, never quite slipping in.

“N-n-,” Cecil tried to deny.

“I want you to,” Carlos said in a low voice. “Come for me. Right now.”

Cecil didn’t need to be told twice. Carlos barely had time to slip his mouth back over Cecil’s cock before it twitched violently, his whole body shuddering, and began to pump over and over again into the back of Carlos’ throat. Carlos had done this before, and swallowed without complaint, knowing how it felt, but he still kept suctioning, his hands down drawing nail marks down Cecil’s body, leaving thin wheals and coming to rest at Cecil’s hips, which he himself pumped forcefully while Cecil yelled before every effort in his body was drained into his climax, even his voice, threading to a whimper and then a silent scream. Cecil had never taken so long to come before, and never been reduced to speechlessness.

Carlos felt proud. He watched as his boyfriend went limp, and carefully lowered Cecil’s legs off his shoulders to lay him down as Cecil panted into the arms still bound above his head. Carlos quickly undid them, but Cecil didn’t lower his arms, only groaned incoherently.

Carlos was so hard he didn’t think his pants would go back on. He took his cock in his fist and began to pump. He recognized he had been stimulated enough by Cecil’s expressiveness to not be too far.

“Cccc,” said Cecil, slitting his eyes when he heard Carlos panting in high-pitched squeaks. Carlos was not usually vocal; he was quite the opposite of Cecil, the quiet climax, the stretched face, the curling toes.

“What?” panted Carlos.

“Come,” mumbled Cecil, jerking his fingers.

“What?” Carlos was annoyed. He wanted to be left in peace. He could barely process words at the moment, nonetheless have a conversation with his boyfriend who he had fucked into a catatonic sleep.

“Come on me,” Cecil said more clearly, and Carlos stopped jerking in astonishment.

“What?”

“Do it,” Cecil commanded, his own sleepy smile just as mischievous as Carlos’ had been.

“Are you sure?”

“If you don’t come _right now_ ,” and Cecil’s voice was the one Carlos had fallen for; deep and shaking, slow and lovely. “I will-“

But what Cecil was going to do was not apparent, because the voice alone had sent Carlos over the edge. He gasped, dropping to his hands, whimpering pitifully as his cum arched over Cecil’s bared chest, soaking his shirt, staining his own flaccid cock, and spattering against the desk walls. Carlos couldn’t hold himself up and collapsed on Cecil, rolling off with an apology.

They snuggled for a long while, Cecil smiling smugly, drawing lazily over his sticky skin with a forefinger as he remembered being on the edge for over half an hour. It had seemed like years.

“We better get cleaned up,” said Carlos finally, recovering more quickly than Cecil, who was still shaken. “And head home.”

Cecil groaned, and then squinted his eyes open. “We’ll just call in Intern Yvonne.” He couldn’t move.

“About that,” winced Carlos.

“What?”

“She’s dead.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” swore Cecil, and lifted his arms pitifully above his head to be helped to his feet.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this is a one-shot or should continue. Go ahead and let me know.


End file.
